And what of lady Columbia?
by DBack47
Summary: Sins may be forgiven and dismissed, but their consequences never completely leave. Thrusting herself back into the fray, Elizabeth has much to learn about the difficulties of living outside of Columbia, and the depths to which humanity can fall. And what of herself, and all that she has to answer for? Certainly she can't say that the Lutece twins didn't warn her. Minor swearing.
1. Prologue

_Hello, and just for your information, Robert and Rosalind have a very…peculiar method of writing. I hope they aren't confusing._

_I own nothing and if I did the game wouldn't be as good as it is-its a masterpiece. If you haven't played it, watch the walk through. _

_Spoilers..._

_Post Game..._

* * *

There was something eerily familiar about the image of Uncle Sam, pointing a finger directly towards his heart with the caption UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU TO PROTECT AMERICAN IDEALS. For a flash, Booker was seized by a feeling of anxiety, eyes flickering across the afternoon skies that were cloudless save the billowing columns of grey smoke that issued from the towering smokestacks high above the yard.

But as he always had before, he returned to looking down at his battered leather shoes, eyes dimmed and tired, thoughts blank and drifting aimlessly. Not even the dull roar of the crowd about him, the smell of coal and smoke, or the cry of the foreman could excite his nerves, leaving him alone, slumped haphazardly against the wall. He was…Booker Dewitt. Nothing more, nothing less-just another face to forget, although that wasn't the reason for joining the US 7th cavalry division, and going out West to fight at Wounded Knee to slaughter, lose innocence, and lose faith in life-a despairing sinner.

Nothing had been the same after that, and neither the rejected baptism after the battle nor the funeral for his mother had helped, not that they would of anyway. And so he had joined Pinkerton's as many veterans did, specifically the New York City Pinkerton's branch, drowning out the memories of the cries of innocents with the shouts of union workers as he charged their ranks, smashing strikes and hitting union offices.

Hope had centered on Mary, a childhood friend and a companion that had broken some of the solitude of the City and comforted his ailing soul, although in 1892 that had all come to an end, after their marriage, after their honeymoon, after the point in a book where the words "happily ever after" are written and the reader is not told of the misery of life beyond the marriage. She had died while giving birth to Anna, and had been buried back in her hometown. He lost his job at Pinkerton's in 3 months and was doing odd jobs in 4, and after that had went to the end of things, draining his life into the mindless pleasures that money…borrowed money in this case, could buy.

It couldn't last, and it had ended in prison for fraud and bankruptcy 3 years later, with his neglected child, after a curious event where someone had offered to buy her outright. He would have done it…should have done it, had it not been for a gaze from Anna's blue eyes that reminded him that life was…

The whistle blew and the crowd of waiting workers picked themselves up and stood at attention, as the gate to the factory opened.

Life was worth a lot more than what money could buy or sell…

He passed through the archway into the poorly lit and poorly ventilated interior of the factory. Anna…she was the reason that he was a slave, working for terrible wages in horrible conditions, hoping for the turn of events that the future brought which were despite all his determination, strangely…

"Mr. Dewitt?"

"Want something?" Booker asked as the foreman frowned and folded his arms.

"Your resignation perhaps. You're fired"

Never fortunate. That was life. And yet it was so hard to accept, so hard to withstand the trouble of being alive.

...

* * *

Her head hurt

It was strange, being stuck between heaven and hell, lost and abandoned by reality itself.

It had not been instantaneous-when the Songbird had destroyed the Siphon of her powers, within the milliseconds that elapsed, a thousand other world had poured in, and the efforts of the Elizabeth's in other realities finally pressed through, inducing an almost trance like state that lasted for…how long she couldn't remember.

From what she understood, due to the presence of an infinite loop in the space time continuum, there were a vast number of Elizabeth's in other realities that were working separately but in with the same goal. At the precise moment at which the siphon was released and Elizabeth freed from its leash in a single existential universe, there was an instantaneous overrun of knowledge so that the end would be quick, painless and without choice.

In effect, they had possessed her for 10 minutes, long enough so that they could find the point upon which Comstock and Booker Dewitt crossed fate, the point from which the entire infinite loop stemmed, and stifle it to release their own individual hadn't had a choice. The next thing that she knew was that she was alone among a group of converts and a stunned preacher, having drowned the future Comstock within Wounded Knee Creek itself. And then…then…

The next thing she knew, she was standing beside a lighthouse, the Lutece Twins staring at her with their typical dry, unsympathetic expression.

"_So…its over"_

"_What's over, what the hell just happened?" she had spluttered, a terrible migraine making her lean against the steel sides of the tower, her stomach feeling sick. _

"_The Loop, the infinite loop of reality has been spliced, as Ryan coined the term" Robert's sentence fluidly entered into Rosalind's speech "which means that our task is finished…I suppose you would want to hold your nose upwards" _

"_My what?" Almost subconsciously she raised a hand to her face, only to feel something liquid across her lip, realizing that it was…blood. Her nose was bleeding. She accepted a handkerchief that Robert handed her, holding her head up. "Who's Ryan?"_

"_I'm sure you could meet him if you wanted too" Robert began "He's quite mad, very convicted of his own delusions which are thought out but half-baked all the same" Rosalind continued. "But that's a whole other story that would take far too long to explain and be far too pointless to elaborate upon anyhow" Robert finished. _

"_Okay, okay, just give me a moment" Elizabeth wheezed, coughing as she struggled to clear her thoughts, fighting down her headache. "So…let's start over, what happened?" _

"_You killed Comstock…quite permanently I believe, although I am confident that you could tesseract him back into existence" Rosalind started "But after all that trouble we went too, I don't think that neither you nor we would prefer that" Robert followed _

"_I did? I thought Booker did that" Elizabeth was horribly confused, a hundred specific questions forming at once "where's Booker?"_

"_Which one? Child, there are so many different Booker's that you could be referring too"_

"_Shut up, you know exactly the one I am talking about" _

"_You should, at the very least, recall drowning him" _

_Elizabeth was stunned, but the awful realization set in as she looked at her hands, recalling the fleeting moment just minutes ago when she had been staring down at Comstock's…or Booker's suffocated corpse, still warm, floating in the shallow stream. She…she was the one who had killed Booker, or was it Comstock? She couldn't quite tell the difference._

"_Then why don't I remember anything else?" she said as she grew increasingly exasperated, a twitch entering her eye as her thoughts tried to comprehend the magnitude of what had occurred._

"_Because you triggered the desire and efforts of many other Elizabeth's within many other worlds who we had informed about this little" Robert spoke first "experiment and they were nearly hysterical in their determination to finish the time-continuum loop once and for all. Of course they virtually forced us to oblige" Rosalind spoke second "and we allowed their realities to briefly enter ours. They seized control of you and forced the entire affair to a single conclusion, although I don't know whether you are much satisfied by that" Robert spoke third_

"_So wait a second, they possessed me?" _

"_not possess, but rather" Robert spoke "impressed to the point that you had very little conscious will in the matter" Rosalind continued _

"_Why!" _

"_Because you are a silly, 19 year old girl that has very little understanding of the powers she possesses, or the ends to which they can be conducted and...you've said enough" _

_Elizabeth raised her eyes in surprise that the words were not directed at her, but rather by Robert towards Rosalind. It was a rare moment of a lack of synchronized thought between the two. They then both turned and stared at her, and then gave the faintest of phantom smiles, both identical, looking like mirror images of the other. _

"_You see, even we cannot agree on your future" Rosalind commenced "because technically, you shouldn't even exist any longer" Robert terminated _

"_What in the name of Columbia are you talk…" _

"_You are the daughter of Booker Dewitt, purchased from him in one of his imprudent decisions by a different Booker Dewitt of a different universe that had been baptized at Wounded Knee and then assumed the identity of Zachary Hale Comstock before embarking upon the creation of his personal heaven, through our experiments, which came to be known as Columbia, unveiled to the world at the Chicago World Fair in 1893."  
_

_"However, this timeline lead to the creation of a city that was trans dimensional and unaffected by current weaponry, and Comstock, bearing a great grudge against fate for the unfortunate series of events that had lead him to the identity he had, which he privately hated for your information, intended to destroy current civilization and rebuild it in his image. So when you drowned him, theoretically you should disappear because there is no longer any Comstock to buy you off of Booker Dewitt" the twins had alternated their sentences, making Elizabeth dizzy, rapidly switching between the two of them. _

"_But Robert, how stupid of us! The reason why he needed you, was because he could not personally conduct the so called 'purging by fire' of the earth because he had become a time continuum anomaly that had no bearing on the consequent course of history. He thus needed an heir that was capable of being inter-dimensional, unbound by the shackles of current history to destroy and build as you choose. You do not think that he had you transformed into a vessel of dimensional powers and tiers by accident do you?"_

"_huh?" Elizabeth could barely think coherently. _

"_You, not Columbia, nor Comstock's prophesies, nor the Songbird or even the great experiment we just finished successfully, are our greatest achievement-the removal of a human being from reality itself. So in effect, born, was born, will be born, dying, dead, but never will be dead." _

"_I think that's we're confusing her Rosalind" _

"_Well she has time to think about it Robert"_

"_We should leave now"_

"_No we shouldn't" _

"_Yes we should"_

"_Head or tails?" _

"_Heads as usual"_

"_Tails!"_

"_Oh bother, we've tarried far too long, she can find her own way from here on out" Robert said _

"_But aren't you worried that she's too much of an unpredictable variable to leave to her own devices?"_

"_Of course, but it's not our responsibility!"_

"_But we should at least answer the question that she asked, will ask and will be asking"_

"_Perhaps we should. Formal introductions at long last. Hullo, I am Rosalind…" _

"_And I Robert…"_

"_The same except for a single chromosome…" _

"_And no, we're not human anymore…" _

" _we're quite dead…yet alive at the same time"_

"_More like spirits, really…"_

"_Hence, we are both quite mad…" _

"_But miss us not…"_

"_For we shall cross paths infinite times more"_

"_And now shall we just leave her at a gateway?" _

"_Yes I think we shall. Booker managed quite well" _

"_Well only after our 122__nd__ attempt at closing the loop" _

"_But she's not our responsibility anymore"_

"_So…as they say, said and shall say" _

"_Live long and prosper…"they simultaneously made a strange sign with their hands, parting their fingers in the middle in something akin to a salute before Elizabeth blinked and abruptly, they vanished._

She felt cheated, marooned in the space between realities to a life of boredom more solitary and lonely than her tower had ever been. At least there Songbird had been a friend of sorts, but now she was nothing more than…

Than a ghost.

Life had landed her upon a gateway, her gateway as she had come to know it; the lighthouse that had once been the entrance to Columbia and was now her home, set upon an inter-dimensional ocean that was infinitely vast. This wasn't how she had imagined it; freedom was not prison, or shouldn't be anyway. When Booker had stepped…or fallen into her tower her hopes had soared. Paris, Moscow, Shanghai, Johannesburg, Cairo, Honolulu and Cancun, all those places that she had read about about were within her reach, the walls of her Jericho having been torn down by destiny itself.

But now that she could go there at her discretion by merely opening a tear, she realized just how empty the actual places were, and how her imagination had created edifices far greater than the goals themselves.

She would stroll, alone and virtually invisible in crowds of people, all with their own lives and individual struggles, dreams and achievements to strive towards, and she had…

Nothing, just a lighthouse and her own two hands, her own mind and a quiet voice within her head that reminded her that she was utterly, utterly alone. She wondered idly whether this was what it was like to be a deity, powerful and isolated at the same time, with nothing to pray to and fear. Over time, her powers advanced but she herself was lost on how to use them practically. The Lutece twins had not visited since the day that she had gotten there, and the silence of her own mind was becoming unbearable.

And yet she began to ask, whether the walls that keep her imprisoned were breachable with nothing but a little bit of daring? A bit of ethical compromise? She saw an opportunity to be normal, to escape, to integrate herself into a world that she had studied with such fascination but not once had been allowed to enter.

Day by day, she watched them, planned and thought about her possible actions. 20 years old and already life had abandoned her, but she was not about to let it happen, not if she still had the ability to change things.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you"

"Nor would I"

She whirled on her heel, facing Robert with a furious word upon her tongue. "You…you…"

"Us? We're not human, so perhaps it would be more proper to refer to us as objects that are neither dead nor alive"

"Like Computational Devic…"

"Computers my sister, that's what they're called. PC's goes to the same effect"

"Shut Up!" Elizabeth nearly screamed. "And if you're here to espouse the dangers of my choice than go away. This is my damn life and I am not going to rot while he allows everything I worked towards fall apart"

"She's quite determined Robert, and considering that I know women better than you do…"

"You don't!" Robert spluttered at Rosalind, who just shrugged and continued speaking "than I would know that irrationality actually makes sense in many situations, in which the opposite sex objects strenuously"

"Shut up" Elizabeth turned her back on them, looking back towards the tear that she had half way opened.

"Well I see that she committed, commits and is committing in every future situation, but of course…"

"We can't predict your future actions"

"But we can say that your choice is an unparalleled risk that threatens to destroy reality all together"

Elizabeth fell silent, the waves lapping against the weathered piers of the lighthouse dock filling the air with their calming sound. After a long pause, she sighed, collecting her thoughts.

"You're not human, you don't understand that I still am, and therefore I want to live, I want to experience, I want to do what every other twenty year old girl enjoys doing; being alive. I want to learn, I want to love, I want to feel the bad and good of a changing world. I don't want to be some freak of your experimentation, a porcelain doll that can't be tampered with and so…I choose"

"Scandal, temporal meddling? Child, have you not a hint about what you are risking here? You are on the path of self-destruction, that of yourself and Mr. Dewitt's"

She stared intently at the twins, both with the nearly permanent blank expression on their faces, clothing dating from the 1890's and never changing, dressed as though out on a summer walk upon grassy commons, same height and stature, neither beautiful nor ugly. They were an enigma to her, and, now that she thought about it, the reason for many things-her own state, the creation of Comstock, the disaster that Columbia had been, the infinite loop and all the misery it had caused.

Effectively, she had the world to blame on them, for their incompetence, for their inhumane actions that were now sealed in their graves, both dead and alive at the same time, unable to be dismissed or called upon. It was their fault their mistake, and now they dared tried to advise her?

"I make my own decision! You have always been the ones meddling, toying with things that aren't to be treated like your play things in the nursery!" And with that final, defiant cry, she lifted her hand, mentally grasping the fabric of existence, sheering it, and willing the Lutece twins out of her sight. With a flash, they were gone. She didn't know where she had sent them but they were gone. Ironically in all her loneliness she couldn't bare the sight them.

Turning heel, she returned her attention to the tear that she had previously opened and pondered, her heart increasing its cycle of beating till it was a drum in her chest and her mind was racing at the great leap of faith across the lines of moral correctness and principled upbringing that she was about to take.

"Nothing ventured" Elizabeth said after what seemed to be an eternity

"Nothing earned…I'm coming Booker"

.

* * *

And it was all spiraling, burning away, burning, burning in his head. The massacre at Wounded Knee, the rejected Baptism, Mary, the debts, the union strikers, Pinkerton, his family, his friends, his daughter, and now she was gone too, left in a box in front of the orphanage. He didn't give a damn any more he just wanted to feel the burn of whisky in his stomach and the buzz in his head, a final act of release before destroying everything that was his.

Suicide is not something that is committed by conclusion, often it is the last straw that shatters after a long period of decline and decay, eroding the last hopes and prayers, sinking into a downwards spiral of gloom and despair that weighs down the soul with the weight of heavy chains till the soul collapses and the mind becomes empty and completely vulnerable to the ravages of the utter bleakness like carrion that is snatched away by a vulture. There was no return, no light, no companion, no second thoughts. This was it.

He avoided the glitz and lights of New Jersey, if there was much of any on that windy night, a light drizzle falling upon the city streets and soaking the cabs that clattered across wet paving stones. He walked the dead man's walk, already half way to oblivion, feet shuffling through puddles of water and under the dim glare of gas lamps towards the end of the street where the waterfront was. A pistol in his pocket discouraged the ragged men of the alleys from approaching him, their bearded faces turned away in cold ignorance of the zombie that walked past their small barrel fires by which they warmed their hands.

They knew where he was going, and they knew that only a miracle would turn him back. But the preachers were sleeping and the Missions closed, and charity would not save a sinner of blood from the doom he was set on throwing himself into.

The waves were rolling against the sea wall, salty spray splattering Booker in the face. New York City slept across the Hudson, the spire of Trinity Church soaring above the low slung buildings of Lower Manhattan, dwarfed by the stone piers of the Brooklyn bridge beyond. This was his last testament to the world; that of a vanished man with no past and no future.

Too far wasted in mind and life to resist, it was easy to raise the pistol to his head and begin to count.

1…

2…

"Stop"

3…

Something hit him, hard across the head, sending him careening into a pool of water, the pistol clattering from his hand and through the safety railing, down into the hungry maw of the bay where it promptly sank. He vision blurred as he made out the figure of a young woman, carrying what it appeared to be a baby in one hand and a brick in the other, face in an expression of sympathy and disappointment.

And then he sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Feedback is requested. Thanks _


	2. strange, yet familiar

"_Mr. Dewitt?"_

_Booker raised his head, unfamiliar with the feel of polished wood, eyes wide as he tried to orient himself. He was in a café of sorts, which wasn't unusual for him, but the hardwood paneling and the plastered ceiling with dentil trim etched into the corners; that was the hallmark of a well-heeled establishment, not the seedy pubs that he frequented…where the hell was he? _

"_Mr. Dewitt?" _

"_What?" he turned his head, annoyed, but was greeted with the smile of a well-dressed waiter, who held out his hand. "I need payment for your coffee" _

"_Sorry, I don't got any money, I think" Booker was surprised to feel the smooth metal of coins in his pocket. Rather embarrassed, he handed a coin into the bartender's hand, and in return was presented with some coffee. When was the last time he had had a decent cup of joe? He couldn't remember._

_Golden sunlight streamed in through wide plate glass windows, the establishment empty save himself and the waiter who was wiping down the counter. Booker raised his eye to see a mechanical horse clump by dragging along a vending wagon, advertisements cheerfully plastered on the side facing him. Wait, a mechanical horse? Sure enough, it was a steel monster, banging and snorting as it made its way towards the end of the street. The handful of pedestrians in the narrow street appeared oblivious to the oddity that trampled besides them, their eyes turned to the bay windows of Beaux-Arts styled buildings and the merchandise within. _

"_Where am I?" Booker spoke hesitantly, feeling as if he had already asked such a question. _

"_Heaven, or as close as we'll get to it till judgment day" the waiter said with a grin. "Although you already know that Mr. Dewitt"_

"_I do?" _

"_Certainly, you are our honored guest here after all"_

"_What the…" Booker felt confused, noticing that he was even attired different, wearing a tan blazer and knickerbockers. "Hold on, I'm not finished with my drink"_

"_But of course Mr. Dewitt"_

_He got up from the counter and walked slowly to the door, trying to comprehend the peculiarity of it all. He was broke and out of a job, and somehow he was in Manhattan…no…no he wasn't. His heart nearly dropped when he saw clouds, blue skies, and an enormous airship floating past at the end of the street. _

"_How in the world?" _

"_Booker?" _

"Booker?"

"Huh?"

He felt pain, smelled the musty odor of an old wooded office, heard the sound of typewriters, and then saw _her _as he opened his eyes-the same girl from last night.

Twenty years old about, a bewitching sight to behold, with wide blue eyes and dark brunet hair still drying from the rain, an expression of both judgment and curiosity upon her face, wearing a long tan skirt and a policeman's oversized overcoat, draped unceremoniously over her shoulders.

"You look absurd" Booker drawled, feeling dizzy and sick as a headache pounded through his head.

She frowned "and you look hung-over"

"That's because I am" he groaned and slung a hand over his eyes, trying to block out the dull light that cast the room in shades of morning grey. An older woman, her reading glasses balanced precariously on the edge of a long nose, peered into the police station storage room, placing a pitcher of water and a glass upon a crate next to the door. "Miss, your dress is done drying on the radiator…would you like me to get some brandy for him?"

"I think alcohol is the last thing that he needs"

"And for the baby? I can fetch some heated milk for you"

"That would be wonderful Ma'am, thank you"

"Who's that?" Booker murmured.

"It's Miss Cynthia Wolfe of the police station to you sir! And if I were your wife I would be about ready to divorce you after your irresponsibility last night. Really Miss Columbia, I think you deserve much better than that drunkard"

"He's an old friend" Elizabeth said rather nervously, turning pale. "and I'll not be his husband even if the president asked me to marry him"

But Booker hadn't heard, murmuring something unintelligible as he turned over on his side. Cynthia shook her head. "sensible girl, but why you are even concerned with his well-being I can't figure"

"Because of her" Elizabeth looked down at the sleeping Ana in her arms. "His wife is dead actually, I'm here to pick up the pieces"

"Well let me do something to help. Nothing but whores and the deranged of us woman that end up in this precinct. It would be good to have some company" Cynthia smiled. "You sound like a suffragist"

"Excuse me? I'm new in town"

"Country girl?"

"You could say that" Elizabeth said anxiously. "but really, I just want to help him and Anna"

A bell rang and the buzz of voices in the other room grew louder. "Blast, more union strikers to deal with. The world of men is absolutely insane Miss Columbia, and I say that you should join the suffragist movement for the good of the country. I'll be right back with the milk" Cynthia hurried off, closing the door behind her.

"Thanks?" Elizabeth was unsure of what to think. She didn't quite like the sound of 'suffragist' she had enough suffering of her own to deal with. Anna had been unusually quiet. Elizabeth had always read about baby's crying incessantly but Anna had been so tolerant of the rain, even being left alone at the orphanage and being picked up by a complete stranger that Elizabeth was beginning to wonder whether Booker had been a good father after all. Although history told her that he didn't seem to care about his daughter, the peaceful look on Anna's pudgy face seemed to contradict that.

If only Booker was awake he could tell her a thing or two, although this wasn't the Booker that she knew. He was younger by 20 years, but his scraggily face and scars gave him the same weathered look that she remembered him for as her protector during her last days in Columbia. Rapidly moving eyes beneath his eyelids and his furrowed forehead suggested dark dreams, reminding Elizabeth that he had as dark and murky a past as her own, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the man, although not too much. She would have a _word _with him when he did wake up about his suicidal intent and drunkenness, but she could wait. After all, there was plenty to think about.

The romance of Paris and its crown of the Eiffel Tower had always fascinated Elizabeth more than New York. After all, New York was not the center of _Art-Nouveau_ and the cultural kingdom in which George Feydeau wrote plays, Sergei Diaghilev performed ballets at the Palais Garnier, the posters of Jules Cheret were advertising the World Fair of 1900, and Auguste Escoffier transformed _Haunt-Cuisine _in the _Hotel Ritz Paris_. But…

She opened the window and stuck her head out, closing her eyes and taking a waft of morning air, detecting the salty smell of the ocean and fresh rain. It was Tuesday, April 5, 1895 and the City was waking up. The harbor was already jam packed, and Elizabeth couldn't help but delight in the sight of hundreds of packet ships, their sails bundled up upon tall masts that reminded her of a great forest of sorts, sluggishly moving up and down the Hudson, overtaken by the chuffing of ocean-going paddle vessels, their decks crowded with early morning travelers and cargo. Ferries unleashed an endless chortle of whistles as they continued their endless task of bridging the waters, while the city itself answered back with a roar of clanging trolley bells and the rumbling of elevated rail trains.

"Oh sweet reality, and all your notions, sundries, and novelties"

"What, never seen a city before?" Booker was still half-way asleep as he lifted his head "why is the floor so uncomfortable?"

"Is the floor supposed to be comfortable?"

"Yeah, the rotting parts. The wood gets all soft and…who are you?"

Elizabeth blinked. This was too surreal. "I'm Elizabeth Columbia"

Booker let out a gravelly chuckle "Where were you born, the World's Fair?"

"To an extent Mr. Dewitt"

He coughed as he sat up, clumsily trying to stand on his feet "Yeah yeah World's Fair my ass, where's my whisky?"

In the other room, the police station secretaries heard a loud slap from the storage room followed by a _"What the Hell!"_

"You crazy girl, what are doing!" Elizabeth was tugging at Booker's lapels, furious as he attempted to free himself. "Get, get off of me!"

"Now Mr. Dewitt, you listen close! I came a long way to help you, and I did not come to deal with an uncouth, lazy drunkard that I had to save from committing suicide! Now get a grip and be a man for once!"

"Go to hell! Where you from, one of them mission girls? I'm far past redemption!"

"But Anna's not!"

"What do I care!?"

Elizabeth threw the pitcher of water on him, sending a quart of water splattering off his shoulders and on to the floor. Booker flinched, jerking at the unexpected singe of cold water, spluttering as he tried to clear his nose.

"of all the things to say Mr. Dewitt, that is intolerable" she spoke in a grave and quiet voice. "If you say or do anything in this manner, I am leaving once and for all"

There was a minute of silence between them as Booker continued to seethe and splutter, but slowly he calmed down, sniffing as he wiped a wet hand to clear his vision, breathing deeply. There was a spark of clarity in his bloodshot eyes that she hadn't seen before and his belligerence had vanished. Instead, she only saw a shaken man, acting as if woken from a nightmare.

"thanks" his voice was now a horse whisper "I needed that"

Anna began to cry. To Elizabeth's astonishment, she watched as Booker got up and walked over to pacify his daughter, and saw a sudden look of guilt upon his face. "Anna" he murmured. "Just calm down, daddies having one of his moods" he looked over and looked at Elizabeth in the eye. "My apologies"

"I'm not the one to be sorry too, it's your daughter after all"

"Yeah well I don't deserve her. Jesus I must have been drunk"

"To commit suicide? To leave her at the orphanage? Perhaps you were"

"Ha, that's an understatement."

"Then why did you get drunk?"

"really? You wonder why? I'm penniless Miss Columbia, and I was fired yesterday, so in that situation I preferred to be drunk. Actually it's not unusual and…" he faltered. "I've said too much"

Anna's crying continued to fill the room. Booker gently rocked the child and cuddled her to his chest to no avail. Elizabeth winced, although she had no clear idea of what to do, but she could at least break the silence.

"So" she got up and came over to Anna, staring down at the baby's unhappy face. "she's a good baby?"

Booker threw back his head and laughed. "If only I were a better father. Poor girl, left home by herself for an hour or two sometimes. Underfed, uncared for…God its awful. There's a reason why she would have a better life in an orphanage, and even that I can't pay for"

"She's a pretty little girl" Elizabeth felt so awkward to say that about…herself. Another version of herself of course from a different reality, seventeen years younger and more neglected, but there was still a sparkle in those baby blue eyes that was unquestionably here's, the way her face was twisted in unhappiness that was _her _expression and a sort of infantile intelligence that made Elizabeth realize that, this was, basically, Elizabeth much younger. It was enormously strange.

"I know. A gift that I can hardly can take care of"

"Well then what are we sitting around here for?" A determination was building within her to take care of both her father and Anna. That's why she was here, to act as a catalyst for that happy ending of all things that she so desperately sought, and nothing would prevent her from doing so.

"Huh?"

"if I were you two, I would head down the Whittling Settlement house down on Grand Street" both Booker and Elizabeth looked over in surprise to see Cynthia once again peering through the door. "Your dress miss, here you are"

"Much appreciated Miss Wolfe, what was that about a House?"

"The Whittling Settlement house offers good meals and a place to stay for a night or two. I know some friends there personally who can get you in and give that baby some proper care." Cythia smiled. "you two make quite the striking pair"

"Us?" Booker said in a bewildered voice "Miss, we are complete strangers and…"

"Quiet" Cynthia hissed "I meant the child and the lady. You not at all!"

"Thanks" Booker grunted. "here Liz, you take her since you are the _mother _apparently"

"But!" Elizabeth almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. She took Anna and held her, trying to think of something to do to calm the crying baby, before it struck her.

_Hush little baby don't say a word_

_Mama's going to buy you a mocking bird_

_And if that Mocking bird don't sing_

_Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring_

_And if that diamond ring don't shine _

_Mama's going to sing you this little rhyme_

_So hush little Anna don't make more sound_

_You're safe now and happiness shall abound_

Anna was entranced by the sound of singing, eyes wide and mouth in a small smile, waving her tiny hands towards Elizabeth contentedly. There was a sudden warmth, so wonderful within Elizabeth's heart that she felt like she could burst; a joy that was so pure and genuine that exceeded that of learning, painting, exploring, and all of the things that Elizabeth had thought had been what made herself happy. Love blossomed for the girl, and she leaned down to nuzzle the small child and feel the warmth of the baby on her check. This was the reason why she had come, to experience, to feel, to sing and to give of her soul for a greater good and it felt divine.

Looking up, more visitors had filed into the room. A red faced policeman dominated the room, standing like Goliath above them, alongside some younger woman not much older than her, dressed in the dull colors of Cynthia, staring at her with wide smiles.

"That was beautiful miss" one of them said.

"Oh yes, you are a wonderful singer" the other followed. Blushing, Elizabeth only murmured a 'thank you' and looked over at Booker, whose mouth had come open at some time during the song, and his hands were dangling by his sides, he was stunned.

"That was lovely" a policeman spoke with a heavy cockney accent. "Broadway could aught use some lasses like you sometimes, you put them to shame. Haven't heard singing like that since Belfast"

"Well, I got Anna to calm down so that's the audience response I wanted" Elizabeth beamed.

The policeman nodded, before turning stern eyes on Booker. "As for you, ya stocious gom, now that you're awake, I've have a warrant for an arrest on one Booker Dewitt for fraud and unpaid debt, and public disorder on three counts"

Booker just gulped. Cynthia shooed the girls back to their typewriters, before taking Elizabeth aside to give Anna some milk and change her diaper.

"I really don't give a toss about ya drunkurds getting in a tumble with your friends and then taking money from them and neva paying. But I suppose that you might be doing the public a service if ya clean yourself up and get this here lass and the babe to some shelter and safety. My wife works at the Whittling House. She'll get you in. If I see that you do the right thing, I'll make sure that every cop in Jersey will look the other way. Leave her alone and jail is the last thing you'll be worrying about, are we on common ground here fella?."

"Y…yes sir. Who should I ask for?"

"Mrs. McDonagh. She's a good woman and a good Christian, she'll see to your needs. I'll even escort you there"

"Thanks but…"

"Miss Cynthia, I'm goina be hauling this pair down to Grand Street. Are we ready?"

Elizabeth was dressed in her blue dress that once again, made Booker wish he could find out why she was painfully familiar, but her smile and blue eyes made him ask whether it mattered where she came from at all. "Ready as ever!" she exclaimed "Mr.?" she stuck out a hand towards the police officer, who grinned beneath his heavy mustache.

"William McDonagh at your service. Now Cynthia, would you kindly file those reports I turned in while I'm gone?"

"Certainly Officer, and you see these two safely to their destination"

"Righto Cythia, come on you two, time's a wastin'"

Booker shrugged, wondering whether God really was watching over him. "What do I have to lose?" he opened the door, letting Elizabeth through. She was perky and bright, bearing Anna cheerfully as she strode with a sort of confidence that made him worry. She didn't seem to quite understand that beyond the door, New York, and all its traps and tricks, was waiting.

**Thanks to the following reviewers. **

**compa16**

Markisreal

Uemei

senpen banka

Robofin117

MrCheeseCake54

Joe

baltz00

Sam

**Special thanks to **RYNO IV **for advising **


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